


Readiness Is Near

by tinydancer



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Cancer Arc, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydancer/pseuds/tinydancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian doesn’t usually try new things. He doesn’t think life has much more to offer him anyway.  He’s done it all and anything he hasn’t tried is surely a path to his demise. Even a certain blond barista can’t change this, no matter how much he might complicate things. Canon AU of late S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a cute little barista/coffee shop AU, but apparently the words cute and Brian Kinney do not cooperate and neither does the word little because it turned into a chaptered fic. Ah well, hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

Throughout his life Brian Kinney has slowly but surely learnt an incredibly important lesson that he should never, ever rely on something or someone for _anything_. Because otherwise, he’s fucked – and never in a good way either.

However, despite all his efforts, there are a small number of things Brian has come to rely on so as to feel a little bit of _stability_ , a sign that all is right in the world no matter how much things go to shit. For a long time, Number One of the Things He Relies On has been that, come rain or shine, Brian Kinney’s cock will always be up for the massive amount of fucking and sucking the world has to offer him.  This idea was pretty damn solid – that is until Brian’s fun little visit to John Hopkins Hospital. Since then, he was forced to rule out Number One and Brian had to instead rely on Number Two for his stability. His reliance on Number Two is something he’d never admit to anyone, because if anything was a sign of Brian’s descent, it was his growing dependency on the Liberty Diner for a notion of fucking _stability_. Somehow, he had held onto the belief that the Liberty Diner will always be there to cater to his demanding orders, and that if he ever he craved a Turkey Sandwich – hold the mayo – he could drop by the Diner like he owns the place and then proceed to listen to the constant, pathetic ramblings of his alleged _friends_.

So when he heard from Michael, who heard from Debbie that the Liberty Diner was closing, something in Brian fucking snapped.

It’s admittedly lame, but Brian’s a creature of habit – he’s been eating breakfast at the Diner for years, and now he’s going have to find a new fucking place. Life had already fucked him over by rewarding him with the ever so spectacular testicular cancer. Maybe his lack of hard cock was turning him soft, because he had thought since he’s finally not having the urge to vomit up his insides every fucking minute, that his life was slowly retrieving back to a normal state – sans the very significant fact that he still can’t get it up, of course.

So Brian’s decidedly irritated when he steps into a café near work, some place called _The Golden Gardenia,_ a café Brian had overheard one of his assistants raving on about. He figured that since this place is so close to Kinnetik, it’d be pretty damn convenient if the coffee turned out to be decent enough.

There’s already a crowd inside. Like Brian, most people are dropping by for a quick breakfast before work but there’s still a small line, which of course raises Brian’s irritation a notch.

When it’s finally Brian’s turn to order, it gets worse because the guy serving him is fucking hot. He’s all fresh-faced, high cheekbones and blond hair. Normally, Brian would be all over that – but fuck, it’s not like he can do anything about it.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The guy’s smile is all wide and flirty and his eyes curious.

Brian ignores the familiar proposition and briskly orders a triple non-fat latte to go. The guy’s smile doesn’t falter; he nods, asking Brian his name and then writes it on a cup.

As he’s waiting for his latte, Brian leans back and takes the chance to observe his surroundings.  The café has a surprisingly cosy atmosphere considering the crowd, and true to its name, the wallpapers and furnishings are all golden hues and deep browns. Brian is willing to admit it’s a nice, stylish place, almost an exact opposite to the Diner. His eyes wander to the blond and again he feels a wave of frustration. Sure, Brian rarely used to trick this early in the day anyway, but the fact that he could if wanted to was a given. In his frustration, he snatches the cup off the table when his name is called and strides out without even a thank you.

Why waste manners on a twink he couldn’t even fuck? 

*

The latte is fucking good. Brian goes to the café again the next morning and then the one after that. It turns out the food isn’t half-bad either, not that Brian actually gives a shit how things taste since eating crap at the Diner can considerably lower any standards he might have had. Apparently the hot blond (who according to his nametag is a Justin) works there most mornings and he seems to be a customer favourite. He occasionally attempts to strike up a conversation with Brian (“had a good morning?) and smiles at him with so much fucking radiance that on one occasion, Brian actually smiled back.

After a week of consecutive visits to the café, Brian finds himself there on a Friday morning, feeling like shit and trying to ignore an impending headache. It’s not even nine am yet but he’s already feeling like this day’s gone to shit and is especially _not_ looking forward to a lengthy ten am meeting with Remson Pharmaceuticals.

He orders his usual, this time ignoring Justin’s smile and sits at the nearest table. He leans back and delicately rubs the bridge of his nose. Fuck, the dull thud of his headache has apparently morphed into a heavy pounding and on top of that, he’s starting to feel fucking nauseous – Jesus Christ Brian had thought he was done with this shit. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

Brian opens his eyes at the voice and looks up to see Justin, his expression concerned. “I’m fine,” Brian all but snaps back and Justin nods and then heads behind the counter. Or so Brian thought, because he’s back a few seconds later with a glass of water. Brian’s about to say _thanks, but no thanks_ when he realises that his throat is too fucking dry so he nods and takes the glass.

Justin actually stands and watches Brian take a sip, as if to make sure he really drinks it. “Thanks,” Brian says after clearing his throat a little.

“Seemed like you needed it. You kind of look like shit.” Justin smiles easily. Brian finds himself a combination of both impressed and annoyed at his audacity. “You know, you look like you could use the day off. I’m sure your boss wouldn’t mind if you call in sick.”

Jesus, who did this kid think he was, Brian’s mother? Brian snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure my boss wouldn’t mind, seeing I’m my own boss,” he takes another sip of his water and raises his eyebrows when Justin somehow takes that as an invitation to sit down across him.

“Really? Do you own your own company?”

He sounds genuinely curious so Brian shrugs and answers, “Yeah. The advertising agency down the road.”

At this Justin laughs, “Wait so _you’re_ Mr Kinney?”

“I didn’t realise I’d made a name for myself here,” Brian says, allowing a small smirk. “Although I’m not surprised.”

Justin grins, “Oh your employees come here on their lunch breaks. Let’s just say that you’ve driven the fear of God into them. They’re always worrying over deadlines.”

Brian smirks some more, pleased. “So they should.”

“I always pictured you as this old, wrinkly tyrant type guy though,” Justin says and then laughs when Brian frowns. “Don’t worry, it turns out you’re _much_ more easy on the eyes.”

Before Brian can reply, Justin’s already standing up. “I better go. Seems like your order’s ready anyway.” He disappears behind the counter and comes back with Brian’s low-fat blueberry muffin and coffee. “Enjoy,” he says with a smile and Brian nods, watching his ass retreat with admiration.

It’s only when Brian’s walked halfway back to Kinnetik that he realises the headache had gone. 

*

So Brian’s Friday turns out to be less shitty than expected. He managed to breeze through the meeting with Remson Pharmaceuticals with practised ease, but things started looking bleak when his fucking mother of all people showed up. Joan had wondered why she heard the good fucking news from that _character_ Debbie Novotny instead of her own son.

Well, what did she expect? After years of nothing but contempt for her own family, did she think she deserves the same privilege as his surrogate mother?

“Only you can save yourself from God’s punishment,” Joan had said. Her tone had held that all-knowing and seemingly patient tone she adopts whenever she’s sharing her oh-so generous wisdom.

Well fuck that.

In any case, Brian’s not sure if God had actually heard his mocking prayers or what, because all of a sudden he has a lot to be thankful for. Jesus, who would have thought he’d end up being grateful for a visit from his mother?

* 

Driving the familiar route to Babylon is much more pleasant when Brian has a guaranteed fuck well on the horizon. The number of times he’s recently left Babylon or the Baths unsatisfied is soon to become distant memories, thank fucking god. 

He had considered calling to check if the rest of the boys were going to be in Babylon but then figured that he’d be too busy fucking to pay any sort of attention to them anyway. Not that _that_ would have been different to any other usual night but Brian might as well spare his friends for one night.

He parks the jeep in its usual spot and is about to head for Babylon’s entrance when he recognises a familiar blond figure leaning against a nearby lamppost.

Brian pauses. He doesn’t believe in fate or any of that shit, but he _is_ willing to admit that maybe it’s a fucking coincidence that the one ass he was denied that morning is now out there waiting to be conquered the same night his cock is finally ready.

He strides over to Justin with purpose and Justin watches him with curious eyes, obviously recognising Brian.

“Brian Kinney,” Justin smiles as soon Brian reaches him. His eyelashes are casting long shadows over his cheekbones under the bright light; his lips look soft and pink even in the cold night. 

“Hey,” Brian replies and steps a little closer. He can feel the heat radiating off Justin’s body and in their closeness, he can smell Justin’s scent. It’s something like clean soap and cigarettes, and maybe faintly of paint.

Brian wets his lips and asks, “Had a busy night?”

* 

Justin doesn’t seem nervous on the drive to Brian’s loft. In fact, he’s the opposite of nervous, leaning back with the window rolled down, the cold night breeze tousling his hair.

Brian has his eyes on the road but can sense Justin staring at him, so he turns his head and raises his eyebrows. Sure, he’s used to people gawking at him in admiration but Justin’s gaze feels more curious.

Justin smirks at him. “I guess you’re feeling better after all. I’m glad,” he grins then. “It’s been a while since I’ve been fucked.”

Brian barks out a laugh at that. “Oh yeah? How long’s a while?”

Justin shrugs, “I don’t know? A week? Lately, I’m usually doing all the fucking.”

Oh the _irony_ , the kid thinks a week is a while. Brian almost laughs out loud but instead he raises his eyebrows again, this time facing the road. “Oh, so you’re versatile then?”

He can sense Justin nod. “Hm, and ambidextrous.” His tone is nothing if not suggestive.

Fuck, Brian doesn’t know if Justin’s making all this shit up but he’s glad as they finally enter the parking garage.

When they reach Brian’s floor, Justin pauses at the entrance.

“I like your place. It’s very… aesthetically pleasing.” he says and takes a moment to look around. “Nice kitchen.”

Brian doesn’t bother to reply and starts peeling off his clothes, it’s not like they’re here to have a conversation – he’s actually proud of himself for holding out for so long and not fucking Justin in the jeep like he was tempted to.

He raises his eyebrows as he unzips his jeans and apparently Justin finally gets the message because he steps in, closing the door behind him and heading straight for Brian.

Brian pulls him closer and presses their bodies together. He can feel Justin’s hardening cock against his as he dives down for a kiss.

The kiss is long and deep and by the time Brian breaks free, Justin has enough time to mumble something like “bedroom?” before Brian’s pushing him onto the mattress and peeling off Justin’s remaining clothing until he’s completely bare. Justin’s skin is smooth and glorious under the blue tinged light, and Brian takes a moment to lube him up and place a condom on his own dick until he’s got those smooth, pale legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing into Justin’s entrance.

_Fuck_. He’s so fucking tight, Brian has to pause a moment to shut his eyes and just revel in the feeling. Holy fuck, he had missed this.

* 

Sex with Justin turns out to be pretty damn good. Brian’s not sure if it’s only because the blond is his first fuck after so long but either way, there’s no doubting this kid’s stamina. He gives Brian as good as he gets, and then some. The night is spent with fucking and generous amounts of sucking until Brian’s sheets are filthy with come stains. After yet another round, Brian is so fucking tired that he collapses into sleep and forgets to kick Justin out.

* 

Brian wakes up at around dawn to the sound of someone shuffling against the sheets. He opens his eyes blearily and wonders why the fuck anyone needs to be anywhere this early in the morning, especially on a Saturday.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you.” a voice says and Brian remembers that its the hot blond from the café. What was his name? Justin. His first fuck in ages. “I’ve got an early shift at the café. Mind if I use your shower?” He asks.

Brian nods, still half asleep. “It’s through there,” he points somewhere that’s only vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. Whatever, Justin’s bound to find it without Brian’s help anyway. He can feel Justin shuffle around a little more in the bed and frowns slightly when he feels a quick kiss on his shoulder. “Thanks,” Justin says and then he climbs off the bed.

Later, Brian hears the loft door close in his half-asleep state.

 

 


	2. Two

Brian had planned to spend his entire weekend making up for lost time by fucking around as much as he can. He readily reacquainted himself with Babylon’s backroom as well as with the Baths, but unfortunately for him (and for his potential tricks), being in a so-called recovery period seriously handicapped the entire fuck-fest. In fact, he had only done half as many men as he would have liked before hitting a wall.

Brian’s not stupid. Considering his pre-Cancer sex life, he knows that things aren’t going back to the way they were any time soon. Hell, he’s even man enough to admit it’ll probably _never_ go back to the way it was, especially considering the _tick-tick, ticking_ of the clock. Brian’s pretty fucking terrified of that fact but maybe a little bit relieved too, and he’s scared shitless of _that_ particular thought. Why in the fuck would he be relieved? Jesus.

He doesn’t know what to think, so he relents to simply not thinking about it at all and gets shitfaced.

So, on Monday morning, Brian’s shy of a full-blown hangover, proving to the world that _yes_ , apparently even Brian Kinney makes stupid ass decisions every now and then. But being Brian Kinney, he manages to tone down the shitiness and get his ass out of bed for work.

He arrives at the café later than his usual time so he takes a moment to wonder if Justin-the-hot-blond-barista’s shift has ended yet. Which is a fucking ridiculous thought to have, because why the hell should Brian care either way? After all, he has a one-fuck policy he plans to stick by.

It turns out that, no, his shift hadn’t ended yet because Brian spots Justin almost immediately, looking as fresh-faced as ever and laughing with the customers.

Finally, when it’s Brian’s turn to order, he braces himself for the usual onslaught of _when can we hook up again?_ Or, _Up for another round?_ It’s something Brian has become familiar with; sometimes it’s a routine. Brian had already planned to let the kid down easy, Justin turned out to be a damn great fuck after all and he seems like a pretty decent guy. And anyway, Brian’s not completely heartless, he knows that wiping that huge and ever-present sunshine smile off Justin’s face would be something akin to committing a crime. Justin has a lot of friends in the café, it wouldn’t be wise to brush him off rudely.

But it turns out the kid doesn’t need to be let down easy, since there’s no onslaught. No _when-can’s_ or _can-we’s._ In fact, there’s hardly even an acknowledgement of Friday night in Justin’s words or even his expression. He’s his usual flirty self, nodding when Brian orders and smiling with an “enjoy your coffee, Mr Kinney”, his eyes bright. Brian nods at him with thanks. 

So nothing out of the ordinary, then. No, it doesn’t bother Brian and _no_ , he doesn’t think about it while at work.

*

It happens again the next day, and then again on the day after that. Wednesday morning Brian watches Justin’s ass swerve around as he’s delivering plates to customers and can all the while feel _something_ thrum in his veins.

Okay, so maybe it might bother him a little.

Brian isn’t usually one to give a fuck about things, especially something as trivial as a trick not acknowledging their fuck. But Friday night was pretty fucking memorable, especially since it was his first fuck – a sort of private welcome back party for his cock.

So Wednesday morning, as he watches Justin’s ass and his smile, Brian decides that he needs to get this _something_ out of his system. By lunch break, he finds himself at the entrance to the _Golden Gardenia_ café for the second time that day. 

Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Justin is working the lunch hour and is busily wiping off the tables when Brian approaches him.

“When’s your next break?” Brian asks him without any sort of preamble and Justin, who apparently didn’t hear Brian approach, looks up from his work with a surprised expression. 

“Oh hey,” he smiles at Brian like he’s genuinely happy to see him.

“Hey,” Brian replies. “So?”

Justin finally seems to remember that he was asked a question. “Oh, um.” He checks his watch, “in five minutes?”

“Five minutes?” Brian asks, raising his eyebrows.

Justin takes a moment to eye Brian and then he bites his lip, “Okay, make that two.”

Brian crosses his arms and then nods. Justin, the little fucker, smirks at that. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he says, and then disappears along with the tray of dirty dishes he’s carrying.

Justin comes back in less than two minutes, this time without the apron and dirty dishes. When Brian sees him, he gives Justin a small smirk and heads out of the café and only once looks behind him to check that Justin is still following.

Brian leads them to a secluded alleyway near the café and when he turns around, Justin surprises him by being the one to make the first move. He places both hands on Brian’s shoulders and leans up to kiss him with a startling fierceness.

Their lips fucking _meld_ together and Brian switches their positions and then moves forward without breaking the kiss, until he finally has Justin pushed up against the wall. He presses their bodies close, revelling in the friction.

Brian’s about to reach for his own zipper when Justin pushes him back slightly.

“Wait…wait,” he gasps. “We can’t do this here in broad daylight.” 

“And why the fuck not?”

Justin stares at him, “Maybe because we’re in public? Next to my work?”

Brian smirks, “Oh, so it bothers your precious sensibilities?”

“We’re in public and it’s _lunch hour_.”

“So?” Brian shrugs and then presses their bodies closer until he can feel Justin’s clothed, hard cock under his. “It’s hot.” 

Justin apparently can’t supress a moan and doesn’t bother to argue any further when Brian goes in for another kiss.

Brian doesn’t waste his time worrying about it being lunch hour; he’s had a lot of practice after all. He _does_ worry about getting come on his impeccable Armani suit but he has practice with that too so he manages not stain it, thank fucking god.

Justin writes his phone number on Brian’s black-no-sugar-to-go the next morning. Brian considers throwing it away but ends up saving the number in his phone’s address book and then has to convince himself that there was no weight to that decision. It didn’t fucking mean anything, and besides, it made Justin a hell of a lot easier to reach on Friday night.

Brian had just come home after a mediocre blowjob at Babylon and after considering going online for some good old-fashioned chat room sex, he finally relented to calling Justin and telling him to come over to the loft.

Justin ended up eating dinner at Brian’s. That would’ve been where Brian draws the line but apparently the kid was fucking starving and he made up for it by licking every last drop of the sweet and sour sauce off Brian’s cock.

*

Brian has a shitload of work to do on the weekend. Kinnetik is quickly making a name for itself in Pittsburgh’s advertising industry and that means more publicity, which means more new accounts to deal with. He ends up going in to work on Saturday afternoon and takes some of it home with him for later. 

He’s actually relieved for a break when Lindsay and Gus drop by on Sunday for brunch but second-guesses that notion when Lindsay mentions a certain café that Brian just _has_ to try out.

“I’ve already been there,” Brian cuts her off.

“You’ve been to the _Golden Gardenia_?” The disbelief in Lindsay’s tone makes Brian roll his eyes, though its probably not unwarranted. It’s not like Brian’s known for trying out new places after all, that is unless he’s taking his clients out to extravagant restaurants.

“Yeah. Their coffee’s great,” Brian pauses and then gives Lindsay a smirk. “Their barista even better.”

“Oh, I should have guessed.” Lindsay’s tone is disapproving but she smiles at him. “Well? I could really go for one of their waffles right now.”

Brian shrugs, “Why not take your husband then?” 

Lindsay laughs as that, “C’mon, Brian! Just this once? Gus loves their waffles too, don’t you Gus?” 

Brian only has to hear, “Waffles, Dad!” before he concedes.

* 

There’s not much of a crowd when they arrive at the café so they manage to find a table for three quickly. Brian leaves Lindsay to fuss over Gus while he goes to order their waffles (“chocolate, strawberry _and_ caramel, daddy.”) and his own coffee.

Somehow, he’s not surprised to see Justin working at the register. He smiles at Brian while handing the change. “Cute kid,” he says, apparently unabashed about the fact he was watching Brian. “Is he yours? He looks a lot like you.”

Brian considers telling Justin that it’s none of his business, before nodding, “Yeah, his name’s Gus.”

Justin smiles bigger at that, like he’s happy to hear it, but then he hesitates. “And his mother? Is that your –” he cuts himself off and quickly adds, “not that it’s any of my business.”

Justin is probably wondering whether Brian is actually a closet case and has a wedding ring to prove it. Brian raises his eyebrows, “Not that it’s any of your business… His mom is a friend. Gus is being raised by his two mommies.”

“Oh,” Justin nods. “Cool.”

It’s a little fucking unnerving talking to Justin about Gus. Its not like Brian usually talks about his personal life with his tricks. But even though he’s not completely comfortable with the idea, he’s not entirely uncomfortable either. Justin seems to be one of those guys who are easy to talk to.

The thought makes Brian realise that he hardly knows anything about Justin, except that he works long hours at the café.

“So,” Brian starts, raising his eyebrows. “Working on a Sunday afternoon too? Remember that all work and no play makes Justin a dull boy.”

Justin laughs, “Yeah, I know I’ve been working my ass off lately but you’ll be seeing a lot less of me soon. The new school term starts tomorrow.”

“College boy, huh?” At least Brian hopes he’s talking about college and not high school.

“Yep. PIFA, actually.” Justin says, although Brian didn’t ask. “Don’t worry, it’s not as pretentious as it sounds even if it is pretty fucking pretentious.”

Before Brian can reply, another customer joins the line so Brian leaves the counter with a “see you around” and heads back to their table.

Lindsay shoots him a curious look when Brian joins them, but she’s busy on the phone so she doesn’t say anything. Brian ignores the look and strikes up a conversation with his sonnyboy, who’s gotten pretty damn talkative these days. 

Unsurprisingly, the waffles are fucking good.

*

True to his word, Brian sees a lot less of Justin starting Monday. It’s admittedly strange not seeing his ass swerving around first thing in the morning. It’s already been two weeks since the first time Brian stepped foot in the _Golden Gardenia_ and every single day Justin had been working there. If Brian were a pitiful twat who had lesbianic thoughts, he would have thought that the café felt a little incomplete without Justin – Justin with his golden hair and bright, white smile seemed to fit in with the pretty picture of the café perfectly.

The next time Brian sees Justin, it’s Wednesday night at Woody’s and he and the rest of the gang are playing pool. Brian, as always, is on the winning team. He’s standing aside, waiting for his turn when he spots Justin standing nearby with some guy.

Justin seems to be in deep conversation with the other guy and apparently doesn’t notice Brian watching him. At first Brian assumes the guy is a potential trick but after a few glances towards their way, it seems obvious by Justin’s expression and folded arms that he’s fucking pissed off. In fact, the other guy looks equally pissed off and is talking to Justin with wide hand gestures and a fuming expression.

Although Brian’s not standing too far away, he can’t exactly hear what they’re talking about over the loud buzz of the crowd, though it’s fairly obvious they’re having some sort of argument. Brian knows it’s none of his business. Hell, he doesn’t even know why he keeps glancing towards them. But when he sees the guy shove Justin back with force and Justin’s head colliding with the wall behind him – Brian doesn’t even have to think about it, he gets up from his seat and strides over to them. 

“Such a fucking traitor…” the guy is saying when Brian reaches them, and he actually has his hands on Justin’s shoulders like he’s about to shake them.

Brian interrupts him. “You know kid, if I were you I’d keep the violence to a minimum.  I’m sure Woody’s won’t appreciate you turning this joint into your own little Fight Club.”

The guy, who had his back turned to Brian, lets go of Justin’s shoulders and turns around. “Who the fuck are you?” He spits out when he sees Brian.

Brian raises his eyebrows, Jesus the kid is angry. “Brian Kinney,” he says calmly. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

When the kid doesn’t budge, Justin steps forward. “Listen to him, Cody,” he says, his voice cold and calm. 

Cody looks between the two of them with obvious anger but then he finally relents. “We’ll finish this later,” he promises to Justin, before he turns around abruptly and heads for the exit. 

“Ex-boyfriend?” Brian asks after a moment of complete silence.

Justin finally relaxes his shoulders and then scoffs, “I wouldn’t say that.” He pauses and then looks at Brian for a moment, like he’s studying him. “You know, I could’ve handled that on my own.” His tone is careful and maybe a little curious.

It’s Brian’s turn to scoff this time. “ _Yeah_ , it sure looked like everything was fine and dandy.”

“I’m serious,” Justin folds his arms. “I didn’t need you to come save me or whatever. Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.”

Brian doesn’t exactly want to think about what Justin means by worse. But he doesn’t get to think about it any further anyway, because Justin’s speaking again, this time with a small smile. “But thanks, I guess,” he says.

Brian shrugs, feeling uncomfortable. “It was nothing.”

“Okay,” Justin nods. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“I’ve already got a drink.”

“Okay then let me buy you another one,” he steps closer to Brian and the small smile grows into a smirk. “And then another one.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Brian demands.

Justin shrugs and steps closer still, until Brian can count every fucking eyelash. 

“If that’s what it takes…”

“For?” Brian asks, raising his eyebrows. Jesus, the kid recovered quickly. No one could have guessed what had happened not two minutes ago.

Justin doesn’t reply, only leaning forward and bridging the small gap that was left between them.

The kiss is long, sweet and fuck, maybe even a little familiar. Brian holds the back of Justin’s neck and pulls him closer, sucking and sliding their tongues together. Justin smiles against his lips and its only when he pulls back that Brian realises they’re in the middle of Woody’s and he’s making out like a fucking teenager in front of everyone.

Brian supresses a frustrated groan. Jesus, he can feel half the bar staring at him. He doesn’t even want to think about what the gang’s expressions look like, especially Mikey.

“C’mon,” Brian says, reaching for Justin’s belt loop and leading him towards the bathroom. He pointedly doesn’t look at the pool table.

Justin follows him easily.

 


	3. Three

Brian has always had a certain appreciation for art, especially if it’s good. In his books if something is aesthetically pleasing or in any way desirable, it simply deserves to be appreciated. Sticking to this notion is what generally guides Brian through his pursuit for an utterly hedonistic lifestyle – he rarely leaves a beautiful man unfucked.

Brian enjoys aesthetically pleasing things, so it’s understandable why he enjoys Justin. Justin with his golden hair and curiously bright eyes – not to mention that perfect twink physique – he is admittedly beautiful. 

And right now, Brian thinks that Justin might be fucking _gorgeous_ with his lips pink and full as he wraps them around Brian’s cock and as they glisten with spit and pre-come in the almost darkness of the loft.

Afterwards, when Brian comes with a shout that catches in his throat, those same lips stretch into a little self-satisfied smile and its like Brian has no choice but to kiss the little fucker, if only to get rid of the annoying smirk.

*

In the morning, after a quick and satisfying fuck in the shower, Brian had offered Justin a lift to work. It’s weird because at the time, Brian hadn’t felt like the offer was anything out of the ordinary. He had only been half-listening as Justin rambled on about the café while washing Brian’s back. Brian had offered the lift without thinking about it twice, and could feel Justin’s answering smile against his own shoulders.

“Thanks, but I’m not working today.” Justin had replied. “I have an early class.” 

And Brian, with his eyes closed and shoulders relaxed, had shrugged.

“Alright, I’ll drive you there, then.” The idea hadn’t seemed anything out the ordinary at the time. Hell, it seemed almost like an obvious choice of action. But Justin had paused, the soap bar stopping still on Brian’s back, and then he had smiled with a simple, “Thanks.” 

Brian hadn’t thought much of the pause when they were in the shower, but now, as he’s driving through the morning traffic with Justin in the passenger seat, Brian’s wondering what the fuck he’s even doing. 

Since when did he drive his tricks anywhere but a destination to fuck?

It’s most likely that Brian had caught Justin off-guard in the shower, probably because Justin hadn’t expected the offer from him – hell, maybe he expected very, very little from Brian and anything more came as a huge surprise.

Brian doesn’t know exactly how to feel about _that_ thought. Well, he supposes he should feel relieved that Justin doesn’t really expect anything from him, but at the same time something about that bothers him, though he can’t exactly figure _what_.

Justin must have caught on to Brian’s mood, because he’s quiet during most of the ride – to which Brian is grateful for. They share an almost silence, with Justin at times pointing out directions to a shortcut, and a constant low-volume hum of the radio in the background.

When they arrive at PIFA, Brian wonders if Justin’s going try and kiss him goodbye. It’s a foreign, unsettling thought and Brian knows that _this_ is where he’ll draw the line if it comes to it. But instead of kiss, Justin smiles – wide and bright and – fuck, it’s like fucking _sunshine_ the way it lightens up the entire mood in the car, breaking the tension.

“Thanks for the ride, Brian.”

Brian finds himself almost smiling back. “Yeah,” he says, and _doesn’t_ watch Justin disappear into the crowd through his side-view mirror.

* 

Brian’s talking to Michael during one of their routine phone calls when Mikey suddenly decides to bring up last night’s little incident. 

“So, you left Woody’s pretty early last night…” he starts, and Brian grimaces. He had thought that maybe Mikey of all people had finally learnt to leave well enough alone. Well, apparently not. 

“Mikey, it makes me _so_ glad to hear that you still consider past 8 pm as early. And to think I almost gave up on you.”

“Ha ha, hilarious,” Mikey replies with his usual tone of sarcasm-bordering-on-snark. “So, spending some quiet time with your partner at home equals to committing treason in the eyes of Brian Kinney, what else is new?... Besides we’re talking about you, not me,“ he pauses. “So, what happened last night? You know, with that guy?”

Gee, he sure got to the point. Brian considers bullshitting about the amount of work he has to do and then hanging up the phone as abruptly as possible, but Mikey goes on speaking before he can get a word in. “I’ve never seen you just… _get up_ and stop a fight like that. Did you know him or something?”

Okay, so Brian knows how the whole thing must’ve looked. It was just a regular night at Woody’s like any other until Brian had decided to be Justin’s fucking knight in shining armour. He still doesn’t know what possessed him to get up and drop everything like that – and even after that fiasco, he had taken Justin home. Fuck, maybe it was a bout of insanity, or something like it.  If he can’t explain it to himself, there’s no way in hell Mikey’s gonna hear about it. 

“He works at a café near Kinnetik,” Brian answers after a moment’s pause, his tone nonchalant.

“Oh,” Mikey replies, and it’s obvious he’s itching to ask something more about it, but fortunately he drops it. “As long as he’s not someone you work with… Remember Kip Thomas? Don’t want you going through stress like that again…Y’know, especially while you’re recovering.”

At this, Brian frowns. This is exactly the reason he’s beginning to dread phone calls from Michael.

“Mikey, I don’t need you or anyone else taking care of me.” Michael has other things to worry about, after all – like his own comic book store, and Ben and hell, even that kid Hunter.

“Yeah, so you’ve said a million times,” Mikey replies and Brian can almost hear him rolling his eyes over the phone, though his tone is easy, if not a little exasperated. “Anyway, don’t forget tomorrow night’s dinner at Ma’s. She told me that if you miss it again she’ll have your balls.”

Brian lets out a short laugh. “Seems like the Docs beat her to it.”

Mikey pauses. “Er, I guess she should come up with something new.” His tone is half-apologising, half-awkward and Brian almost regrets saying anything at all. Almost.

“Anyway, I’ve got some customers coming in,” he says. “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t work too hard,” Brian replies, relieved to finally hang up.

Fuck, things have changed.

There was a time when Brian would actually look forward to Mikey’s little phone calls, but these days all Michael wants to talk about is _how’re you feeling,_ _Brian?_ and _you’re in recovery, take it easy Brian_. It’s not like Brian doesn’t appreciate Michael’s calls, it just all so fucking frustrating. He _knows_ Michael’s taking special care to call him more frequently ever since The Big Reveal. 

It wasn’t easy telling Michael that he had fucking testicular cancer. Hell, it wasn’t easy telling _anybody_ , but Mikey especially. Brian had planned to avoid telling anyone all together but after a long day at work and in a moment vulnerability, he had told Deb. After that, it didn’t take long for Debbie to corner Brian and convince him that he owed it to Michael and to himself. “You need someone,” she had said. “It’s your own goddamn fault that you don’t have a lover or partner to take care of you when you need it most but until then, my son’s the next best thing.” 

It’s not that Brian exactly agreed with her, he doesn’t need any goddamn caretaking. He had managed to handle those fucking radiation treatments all by his little self and that pretty much undermines any argument to the contrary. Maybe those days were some of the longest Brian’s ever had – sometimes they even blur in his memories as a haze of endless vomiting and persistent darkness – all balled up into complete and utter shittiness. But Brian had managed it. Survived it, even.

_Your own goddamn fault,_ Debbie had said.

Well, what does it matter anyway? He’s still fucking here, isn’t he?

*

Friday morning, Justin is working at the café. He grins at Brian when he sees him standing in line

“Hey, I’ve got something for you,” he says instead of the usual flirty hello. He hands Brian a folded piece of paper along with Brian’s change, smiling all the while. “Take it as a thanks for the other night, since I didn’t end up buying you that drink.”

Brian raises his eyebrows, “I distinctly remember someone saying they could’ve handled it without me.” 

“It’s a token of my gratitude, you _have_ to accept it.” Justin’s tone is teasing.

Brian considers this, and then quirks his lips, leaning closer. He lowers his voice for both added effect and so that no one else can eavesdrop. “Well, maybe you can show me your _gratitude_ next time I have you on all fours with your ass in the air, begging me to shove my cock in you. Or my tongue,” Brian’s lips stretch into a smirk. “Whichever you prefer, really.”

It’s almost funny the way Justin’s eyes darken instantaneously, and Brian revels in it. The blond takes a moment to pause, swallowing, but then he laughs. “Until then, you can jerk off to my gift. I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.” 

Jerk off? Hm, now _that_ piques Brian’s interest.

“Just don’t open it in front of any kids – or any homophobic colleagues for that matter.” 

Not that Brian would go out of his way to employ homophobic assholes in the first place, though it’s the thought that counts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” Justin nods. “See you later?”

It’s strange; Justin could have meant it as a casual ‘later’ but it didn’t exactly sound that way. In fact, it sounded more like a question – like he was confirming whether or not they were still up for meeting later.

Brian puts the folded piece of paper in his pocket and drops Justin an offhand “later” while he’s already heading for the door.

*

Unsurprisingly, the paper turns out to be a sketch.

But it’s not just any sketch, it’s of _Brian_ , his head thrown back with an expression of pure unadulterated pleasure. And then there’s Justin, with his eyes half-closed and his lips around Brian’s cock, glistening as they did the other night, after he had brought Justin home from Woody’s. In fact, Brian’s fairly sure that it's a picture of the other night, judging from the semi-darkness of their surroundings. 

He doesn’t know what to think, but Brian’s first reaction is his cock hardening at both the memory of that night and the picture in front of him. 

His second reaction is acknowledging that, shit, the kid’s talented.

*

The sun is on the edge of setting when Brian decides to call it an early day. He’s feeling a little more fatigued than usual and he knows by now that it’s pointless to fight against it. So he ignores the concerned and knowing looks from both Theodore and Cynthia and gets the fuck out of the office.

It’s usually a short walk to his car, but Brian’s feeling like shit and it gets worse when he bumps into a guy on the way there. Or more like the _guy_ bumped into Brian.

Before Brian can get rightfully pissed off, the guy starts talking all at once. “Look, I’m sorry for the other night,” he says, his tone controlled. “But it’s not like I’m being unreasonable, I just need to talk to him.”

Okay, what the fuck? 

Brian, still feeling like complete and utter shit, takes a moment to finally recognise the guy. He had only looked vaguely familiar at first, but now Brian is sure that it’s the guy from the other night at Woody’s, the one arguing with Justin. What was it, Colin, or maybe Cody?

Before Brian can ask the presumptuous shit what the fuck he’s talking about, the guy keeps going. “I’m only…fuck, will you tell Justin to call me? Is it so fucking hard to pick up the phone?” The anger that seeps into this guy’s expression is fucking disturbing.

“If Justin doesn’t want to see you that’s his business, not mine – but I suggest you take the fucking hint.” Brian glares at him. “Now get the fuck out of my face.”

He tries to move past the guy, but Cody or Conner, or whatever the fuck – fucking blocks his way. Jesus, how did this kid track Brian down, anyway?

“Justin knows we need him, we had a fucking deal,” the guy says and Brian glares harder, this time pushing past him more forcefully.

“Get the fuck out of my way,” Brian’s tone is demanding but really, he still feels like shit.

Apparently Cody finally realises that he’ll get nothing out of Brian, so the kid just turns around leaves, thank fucking god. 

After the guy’s gone, Brian takes a breath and heads for his car, wondering what the hell Justin had gotten himself into.

He thinks of Justin, his flirty hellos in the morning and that wide, bright-sunshine smile of his – and Brian feels sick. No, he feels fucking _worried_ for him – and isn’t _that_ a thought.

Fuck, this is just what he needs – to worry over some guy who has a talent for making decent coffee, sketching porn and smiling too big. And also for managing to smell faintly of paint every fucking time Brian sees him – which seems to happen more and more frequently lately, fuck.

Brian thinks of the sketch, folded neatly inside his desk drawer back in Kinnetik. He had considered shrugging off the little sketch as nothing and throwing it in the trash. But in the end, he had decided to keep it in the drawer. 

Well, he has an appreciation for good art, after all.

 


	4. Four

 

Contrary to what some people might think, Brian doesn’t actually have a set of principles or rules written in stone. There is no official signed and proofread document listing all of Brian Kinney’s do’s and don’ts. In fact, most of his ‘principles’ actually began forming on their own accord before they became an unofficial rule. Take his one-fuck policy for example – it wasn’t exactly a conscious decision, it was only a solution to a problem that seemed to work well enough to stick by.

Early on in his sex life, Brian had soon enough realised that the majority of men weren’t really like him – some guys would find it a lot more difficult to separate their emotions from the sex they had, even if they had claimed otherwise. Sure, it’d be fun at first and they’d be all about the fucking, but soon enough these guys started feeling entitled to some part of _Brian_ because apparently they couldn’t have a few casual fucks without actually becoming _involved._ In this scenario, Brian ends up being the ace asshole because he would eventually tell them to fuck off in the rudest way possible, lest they come back for more. The one-fuck policy is what really allows Brian to get in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit – a perfect solution.

He thinks about this as he’s taking a drag from his cigarette, staring at the ceiling in Justin’s bedroom without really looking at it.

Justin’s room is small, only a little bigger than Brian’s bathroom and he has posters and artwork all over the place, and clothes thrown around on the floor in way that makes Brian unable to look at without feeling the need to organise some of the shit up.

Brian hears a toilet flush from somewhere inside the apartment, and then Justin’s muffled footsteps as he approaches the door.

“Fuck, it’s freezing.” The blond announces as he steps in, quickly shutting the door behind him. He shivers almost violently as he climbs in and under the covers next to Brian, and then promptly starts nuzzling Brian’s chest, probably trying to leech off all the warmth, the fucker. 

“Hey, watch it! Your nose is fucking freezing,” Brian warns him. But the little twat only grins at him, obviously not finding Brian the least bit threatening.

“Hm, I hope we didn’t wake Daph,” Justin says after a moment of silence, and Brian snorts.

“I have a feeling she wouldn’t mind if we did.” Brian had only met her once, but she was a fag hag if he ever saw one. 

“Probably,” Justin grins again but then his smile falters a little. “So…” he starts carefully and Brian has a feeling he knows where this is going, he can feel himself tense up. “Are you, um, staying tonight?”

Brian doesn’t answer at first. He considers saying _no_ but that just seems ridiculous at this point. So he shrugs, taking one last drag before snubbing the cigarette out. 

“Yeah,” he says and Justin smiles up at him, all warm and wide.

“Great,” hey says. “Up for another round?”

*

When the one-fuck policy became an official-unofficial rule, Brian had not considered one major factor that might undermine the idea of the policy as a perfect solution: that is the benefit of Justin knowing exactly what Brian likes during sex and exactly how he likes it. Brian had thought that fucking one person multiple times would eventually become repetitive, boring – but it’s just the opposite. Somehow, there is an utter _familiarity_ that has arisen between their bodies and made itself comfortable between coffee breaks, lunch breaks and the sheets on their beds.

Only, familiarity does not always equate to a good thing.

Brian doubts that, in the darkness of backroom, any of his tricks notice the thin line of a recently healed scar near his one prosthetic ball. But Justin has noticed, Brian can tell. Sometimes Justin lightly traces the scar with his fingers, probably thinking that he’s being subtle. And Brian has been waiting for the inevitable questions, waiting for _something_ – some acknowledgement, curiosity or even disgust. There’s a chance Justin has figured it all out and is simply waiting for Brian to feel comfortable enough to tell him – or maybe there’s a chance that Justin knows that it’s actually none of his fucking business. Or maybe he simply doesn’t give a fuck.

That night Justin’s fingers trace the scar yet again and Brian lets him. He thinks about whether Justin does it unconsciously or with purpose, and what it would mean either way.

*

The next few days are fucking busy for Brian, with Brown Athletics’ new line taking up most of his time and other minor accounts taking up the time he has left. He sees Justin only a few times at the café, and every now and then they would meet during lunch break to fuck. But other than working, eating, sleeping and fucking, he hardly has anytime for anything else, let alone the dinners and little get togethers with the gang. 

So it’s almost expected when Debbie’s banging on the loft door, wondering very loudly where the fuck Brian’s been and why the fuck he isn’t opening the door already. He lets her in and isn’t surprised to find Deb carrying a huge dish of something heavy with carbs, no doubt.

“I’ve been worried sick, kid,” she pushes past him. “Not returning any phone calls or showing up tonight. What the fuck have you been doing?”

Shit, Brian had forgotten the dinner. He sighs, “I had work to do.”

“Yeah too much fucking work,” is Deb’s reply and Brian can hear her getting busy in the kitchen with some plates.

He’s just about to close the loft door when he sees a flash of blond hair at the edge of the steps.

Justin’s out of breath as he enters the loft and Brian, as confused as ever, is about to ask what the fuck he’s doing here but then he takes a good look at Justin’s face.

Motherfuck, he’s going to kill this Cody.

They start talking at the same time.

“Brian, I’m so glad you’re –”

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Justin blinks, like he doesn’t understand the question and then apparently he remembers. He touches his cheek and then winces. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“The fuck it’s nothing,” Brian glares at him. “Hold still, let me see.”

He steps closer to Justin and carefully holds his face, inspecting the bruise that’s swelling into fucking purple. He touches the bruise gingerly with a light touch. 

Fuck. Brian can feel the fucking anger, the _rage_ thrumming through his veins. And something else too, something fierce, foreign – something like the need to protect.

He freezes at the unfamiliar thought.

“Hey,” Justin says, softly, and then places his hand over Brian’s while it’s frozen on his cheek. “I’m okay.”

Brian takes breath and steps back. “Sit down,” he says quietly. He knows that normally, Justin would have opposed to being ordered around, but he only nods.

Brian turns around, about to head to the freezer for an ice pack, when he realises that Deb is still there, watching the entire time.

Fuck.

Apparently Justin seems to have noticed too, since he stands up again. “Oh, I’m sorry if I was interrupting something.” He sounds slightly embarrassed and Brian would have smirked if it were any other time.

“Oh no honey!” Deb says with a smile. “I was just about to leave. Just making sure Brian here eats something other than his usual high protein meal.” 

She laughs at her own joke but all the while she’s giving Brian a _look_. Brian ignores it and opens up the freezer.

“Well, I’ll best be off then,” Deb says and she’s still giving him the look. “Next time you better pick up the phone, you hear me?”

Brian nods while wrapping a towel around the ice pack, and he hears the loft door close as Deb lets herself out.

Suddenly, it’s too quiet in the loft as Brian hands Justin the pack in silence.

He takes a seat opposite Justin and watches him press the pack against his cheek for a moment. 

“So are you going to tell me what the fuck happened?”

Justin nods, which is apparently a stupid move because then he winces against the pack. 

He takes a breath. “When I heard about Cody tracking you down at work, I wanted to check you were okay. But you weren’t picking up your phone,” he pauses and then smiles softly. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Brian tries to ignore the flash of emotion he feels at those words, and frowns instead. “No, I meant with your cheek. I’m guessing that fucker did that to you.” 

“Yeah, well. You should see _his_ face.” Justin says, obviously trying to make Brian smile but then he seems to realise that _no_ , Brian isn’t about to smile until Justin explains what the fuck’s going on.

Justin sighs. “I guess I owe you an explanation.” 

*

It turns out that Cody Bell is as fucked up as he seems. Earlier that year, he had tried to form a vigilante group in the name of queers everywhere – only it backfired because everyone, including Justin, had caught onto his obsession with violence and revenge.

Apparently, Cody had recruited members by looking up people who would have had a reason to seek revenge; people who were victims of hate crimes. 

Justin tells Brian about the time he was knocked unconscious at a college party by some homophobic jock. At this point, he pauses, probably because of the look on Brian’s face. “It wasn’t anything too serious. I was in hospital for a few days and I had a concussion,” he shrugs. “It was enough to qualify for Cody’s group.”

Apparently, when anyone tried to quit the little group, the fucker would track them down and accuse them of betraying “the cause”. And tonight was the night that Cody had finally had enough of good ol’ Pittsburgh. He had tried to convince Justin to go along with him so they could spread their “cause” to other cities.

“When I told him that there was no fucking way, he punched me.” Justin shrugs again, like it’s nothing and Brian scowls. 

“That little fucker should be arrested.”

Justin nods, “Yeah. But at least he’s gone now.”

Brian sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He tries not to think about what would’ve happened if Justin didn’t get out when he did.

He opens his eyes again and watches Justin for a moment as he’s busily adjusting the ice pack on his cheekbone. He thinks of the huge dish of lasagne Deb had dropped off.

“You hungry?” Brian asks. 

* 

The next day, Mikey calls Brian at work.

“Brian, Ma just called me. She’s asking me about some blond guy that was at your loft last night? I told her I don’t know what she’s talking about but she kept insisting.”

“Hi, Mikey. Nice to talk to you too.”

“Oh sorry. Hi,” he sounds sheepish. “Er, sorry. I was just confused when Ma put me on the spot like that… So who’s this guy?”

“Well I’m confused too. What the fuck are _you_ talking about?” Brian replies.

“Hey, don’t act dumb! Is it that guy from that night in Woody’s? The one you told me that works at the café?” Brian stays silent and Michael apparently takes that for a yes. “So I guess he’s not just a trick then is he? If he was at your home again and you saved him from that –“

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Brian snaps. “I didn’t save him, he was fine on his own.”

“Then why’d you just get up like that?” Michael asks and Brian honestly doesn’t know how to answer the question so he just glares at nothing and contemplates hanging up.

“Listen,” Mikey says. “If this guy’s something more than a trick, if you’re seeing him or something – then I’m happy for you. I think Ben, Emmett and Ted would be too. I’d like to meet him.”

Fuck, now Mikey’s suggesting a little get-together so they can all meet Justin? 

“We’re not fucking _seeing_ each other. We fuck occasionally, that’s all.” But Brian can feel the doubt in his own words, especially considering last night, when they hadn’t fucked until much later – after eating the lasagne together and watching a movie that happened to be playing on the TV.

Jesus, he _was_ seeing Justin.

“Well, does he know that you’re just fucking?” Mikey interrupts his thoughts.

“I’ve got to go,” Brian says into the phone, and then hangs up.

*

Later that night, Brian ignores Justin’s phone call and heads to Babylon.

But what’s ironic is that he spots Justin fucking some guy in the backroom while he’s getting blown. Their eyes meet and Justin grins at him, fucking the guy even harder and keeping eye contact with Brian at the same time.

After Brian shoots his load, he goes up to Justin and kisses him. Hard.

It’s even more ironic when they bump into the gang while he’s buying Justin a drink. Fuck, and Brian had been dreading this very moment only that morning. 

But Justin gets along with everyone famously, shooting the boys his bright, sunshine smile. They all welcome him, falling under his charm, apparently. Even Michael starts getting into a conversation about the artwork in comic books or whatever the fuck. It seems like Justin had already covered the bruise up with powder or something and he did a good job of it too, Brian can hardly see it.

_Fuck everything_ , he thinks. 

Maybe they’re seeing each other, maybe they’re fucking. Whatever.

When Justin asks him if he wants to dance, Brian gets right up against Justin’s ear and smirks. “Only if you dance as good as you fuck,” he says and Justin laughs.

 


	5. Five

Brian is willing to admit, at least to himself, that he has no fucking idea what he’s doing when it comes to Justin. It didn’t take long for him to discover that this, this _thing_ with Justin is a lot like being knocked over the head and then dragged over to somewhere akin to homo heaven, and all without his permission. Brian might still be confused and irritated by the initial blow, but he can’t help but appreciate the joys of homo heaven anyway, well so to speak. 

It’s weird because sometimes, just _being_ with Justin is so fucking natural that Brian doesn’t even realise what he’s doing until much later. Like that time he had dropped by the café during their lunch breaks – Justin’s stomach had growled with such surprising volume that Brian had snorted and suggested they go out for lunch before getting to the actual fucking. 

The lunch was good – contenting even, and Brian didn’t really think much of it when he paid for both their sandwiches. It wasn’t until he had arrived home and when he was standing in the quietness of his own loft that he realised he might have actually gone on a fucking date, unconventional as it was.

But after the initial realisation, Brian had supposed if _that_ was a fucking _date_ then maybe these fucking datesaren’t actually so horrifying – and isn’t that hilarious? Brian Kinney, acknowledging (only to himself, that is) that dates might not only be a petty excuse, a mere convention so that breeders and stepford fags alike can conform to society’s ridiculous notion that you have to wine n’ dine your fuckee as a prerequisite to the actual fucking. Jesus, what a total fucking joke.

Maybe this wouldn’t all be so alarming if his alleged friends weren’t being so fucking _supportive_ of his and Justin’s little non-relationship, or whatever the fuck it is.

It’s actually kind of surprising just how accepting the gang is of Justin, or even that they can so easily accept that Brian’s involved with someone in the first place. Maybe they’re just relieved – a case of _Oh, I’m so glad he’s moving on and growing up_. But fuck that. It’s not like he and Justin are fucking monogamous or some shit. Did they ever consider that the only reason he’s slowing down a little on the tricking these days is because he’s still fucking recovering?

Whatever’s the case, Brian should have fucking expected it when Lindsay shows up on his doorstep one morning; wanting to talk about this Justin she keeps hearing about (trust Deb and her big mouth to make out the whole ice-pack scenario into something more than it actually was). And the universe is probably having a fucking field day with Brian’s life right now because just as Lindsay steps inside the loft, out comes Justin in all his naked glory, fresh out of the shower and wrapped in Brian’s favourite stark-red, 100% Egyptian cotton towel.

“Hey Brian, I think –” Justin stops in his tracks, clearly noticing Lindsay.

“Hello,” Lindsay gives a little laugh, obviously embarrassed. Well, good. Though it’s not like she’s typically too embarrassed in front of Brian’s usual half-naked (or in some cases, completely naked) tricks. “I’m Lindsay. You must be Justin?” 

“Um, Hi.” Justin says and the kid’s obviously confused as to how she knows this. Oh god, he probably thinks that Brian’s been talking about him. “Nice to meet you,” Justin continues. “I’ll, uh… go put on some clothes.” 

As Justin disappears into the bathroom again, Brian takes the chance to grab Lindsay’s elbow and steer her into the kitchen.

“Hey – Brian!” She’s says, releasing herself from his grasp. 

Brian ignores her. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Lindsay sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me, Brian?” She says softly, though her tone is also a little accusatory. “Something as huge as this…” She trails off and Brian glares at her.

“Jesus, sorry I forgot to send out the announcements. And since when are you so fucking keen to hear about who I fuck?” 

Lindsay eyes Brian for a moment and then places a gentle hand on his shoulder. Brian resists the urge to shake it off. “Since it has the potential to become something more…it’d be nice to hear that things are going well for at least one of us,” her smile is sad then, and Brian feels momentarily guilty for forgetting about the whole Sam Auerbach fiasco in all his preoccupation with Justin. “And anyway, usually I don’t have to ask – you just tell me whether I want to hear about it or not.”

At this, Brian glares at her some more, but apparently she’s grown immune to the infamous Kinney Glare because Lindsay smiles wider in return – probably trying to be encouraging. Brian rolls his eyes and heads to the coffee table where he left his pack of cigarettes. If he’s going to suffer through this onslaught, he may as well be prepared.

*

As it turns out, Justin and Lindsay get along so well that it’s both terrifying and fascinating to watch.

Their combination of blond hair and WASP-ish manners – not to mention their never-ending conversations about art and form – is somewhat amusing to watch. Though Brian second-guesses that notion when Lindsay invites them over to dinner while she’s on her way out the door.

“Oh, you two should drop by for dinner tonight,” she smiles at them. “That is, if you guys aren’t too busy.”

Well, fuck that. Normally, Brian wouldn’t have really minded – it’s Lindsay’s house and she can invite the fucking pope over to dinner for all Brian gives a shit. But it’s the way she had said it, she couldn’t have made them sound more like couple if she’d tried. 

Thankfully, Justin doesn’t jump at the invitation and throws a glance at Brian instead.

“Um, I’m not sure about Brian but I think I might be busy…” He trails off, obviously at loss, and then shoots Brian another questioning glance. Brian decides to cut in.

“Sorry, my schedule’s full. Maybe next month.”

“Oh Brian, it’s only a dinner.” Lindsay laughs. “Well, let me know if you change your minds.” And with that, she kisses him goodbye and let’s herself out.

The loft is too silent after she leaves, and Brian watches Justin as he quietly starts walking around, picking up the sketchbook and pencils from the night before.

“Justin,” Brian says, and the blond looks up from his work. “Do you want to go?”

Justin takes a moment to consider, and then continues packing his shit up. “Like she said, it’s only a dinner.” He shrugs without looking up, his tone careful. “I don’t mind either way.”

Oh, so he’s going to be diplomatic about it?

“It’s a simple question: do want to go?” Brian asks again, his eyes never leaving Justin’s moving form.

“Well, I guess I was hoping… forget it,” he sighs.

Brian can take a guess. “You want to meet Gus?”

 

Justin looks up then and smiles a little, “Well, you do talk about him a lot.” 

Brian hadn’t even realised that he did, but it seems likely. Ever since the cancer Brian’s been hanging out a lot more with Gus these days.

Oh, what the hell. What more does he have to lose now, anyway? Everyone’s already assumed the worse.

“If you’re intent on dinner with the munchers I’m not going to stop you,” Brian pauses. “And I guess I should come along in case you’re exposed to something too lesbionic for your virgin eyes.”

Justin’s smile grows then, and he steps closer to Brian until they’re only a foot apart.

“Such a hero,” Justin breathes out, and Brian can’t tell if he’s being mockingly breathless or if it’s genuine. He raises his eyebrows. 

“Always there to protect me...” Justin continues in the same tone. 

Okay it’s definitely mocking, the little shit – though Brian doesn’t exactly mind it when the silly twat follows his insolent teasing with a long and languid kiss.

*

The dinner could’ve been worse. It’s all very _normal_ as they take off their coats and Lindsay greets them at the door with an excited Gus. Mel is apparently indisposed – something Brian is perfectly fine with.

Gus had been shy with Justin at first, but Justin worked his blond-blue-eyed charm and soon enough, Gus is leading them upstairs, eager for a newcomer to see his toy collection. 

“Daddy you gave me this one!” he shows them a teddy bear that has since grown ragged, obviously having suffered from a case of over-cuddling.

“Sure, did Sonnyboy,” Brian grins, ruffling his kid’s hair and Gus giggles excitedly.

He clears his throat and steps back when he remembers that Justin’s watching them, but Justin only smiles at him and then crouches down next to Gus to get a better look at the toy.

“Seems like you love this teddy very much,” he says. “You know, I had a teddy bear like this when I was your age…And guess what his name was?”

“What was his name?” Gus asks, all wide-eyed.

“His name was Gus!” Justin laughs and Gus obviously thinks it’s funny as well since he starts laughing too. “I was a teddy bear!” Gus says, obviously having grasped the idea of reincarnation at the tender age of four.

Brian chuckles, shaking his head at the two of them. He can’t help but feel an overwhelming fondness for his son – and if he were feeling particularly lesbionic, he might even say for Justin too.

*

Remarkably, things with Justin become somewhat less confusing and maybe more _relaxed_ after the dinner with Gus and Linds. The days that follow are filled with both scheduled and unscheduled fucks with Justin, or seeing him at Babylon or Woody’s enough fucking times to call them meet-ups. 

Justin is apparently big on charities, so he drags Brian along to the fundraiser for the upcoming Liberty Ride. It’s for the Liberty House Hospice so Brian doesn’t put up much of a fight in the first place – in fact, he’s glad that he went after his little talk with Jeffery Pendergrass – and the fiasco that happened afterwards only confirmed that he was right when the man turned out to be a fucking fraud.    

It’s just as fucking well that everything with Justin takes a turn for the worse the day of Brian’s appointment with his oncologist.

Brian knows that he might be blowing the entire thing out of proportion, but when the doctor had told him that he’s “not twenty-one anymore”, essentially telling him that he can never resume back to his normal life – it was like someone had punched him in the gut. Of course, Brian had already known these things – though it didn’t help when the Doc reconfirmed that there’s no way to be certain the cancer won’t reoccur. But getting told so bluntly that he’s never going to get his old life back had put him on edge.

Justin, of course, had immediately sensed that there’s something off about him. But Brian remains determined to shut Justin out of this little fun corner of his life – there’s no way in hell he’s going to tell Justin that he had cancer. And because he’s already on edge, when Justin finally concedes and asks Brian whether “ _everything’s okay_?”, Brian, of course, takes it as a chance to fucking snap. 

“You’re not my fucking boyfriend,” he practically shouts. “And you should mind your own fucking business.”

After that, Justin had apparently had enough. He had glared at Brian, and then finally stormed out of the loft – and he hasn’t called Brian since. 

Just as fucking well. If Brian can’t handle a measly check-up without freaking out over everything, how the hell can he handle this – this _thing_ with Justin? 

*

The next few days, Brian doesn’t so much as glance towards the _Golden Gardenia_ on his way to work. It’s too bad since he had become rather fond of the coffee and the occasional pastries there. He tries not to think about whatever else he’s missing while he immerses himself into his work.

*

Brian’s at Kinnetik when he hears about Cody Bell’s death. It’s all over the news: a fistfight gone wrong after firearms became involved. Three deaths were officially reported, and what’s worse is that Cody was apparently fighting in the name of queers everywhere so now the gay community is under scrutiny yet again.  

Brian goes home and calls Justin to ask if he’s okay. 

Justin’s silent for a beat, until he sighs. “Can I come over?” he asks.

And just like that, the past few days all fade to make room for more important things in the present.

*

Life doesn’t seem so difficult when Brian’s lying on his extremely comfortable rug, passing an extremely enjoyable joint to an extremely attractive Justin. 

But then Brian remembers exactly why Justin’s here next to him, and how it could’ve been Justin that had been killed today – and then life is fucking terrifying again.

“Daph actually told me that he had it coming,” Justin pauses and takes a drag. “Fuck. And I thought _I_ was a pessimist. Usually she has nothing on me.”

Brian doesn’t respond to this, knowing that simply being allowed to speak without interruption can help situations like these. That, and also he has no fucking idea what to say. 

“I guess she might be right…” Justin trails off and Brian takes a swig of his beer. “But it’s so fucking scary, though right? Since I’m all young and fucking healthy I have this ridiculous thought that I’m invincible. That nothing can touch me, even death.” He breaks off into silence then, and Brian closes his eyes against the glare of the setting sun.

“Immortality,” Brian says quietly, almost inaudibly – but Justin still hears him.

“Yeah,” Justin agrees under his breath. “Fucking immortality.”

The sun sets in the almost silence of the loft and the next time Brian speaks, it’s completely dark except for the dim orange glow of the streetlights coming from outside. 

Fuck, all this talk of invincibility and immortality makes Brian pretty fucking uncomfortable, but he feels like this is the right thing to do. 

“The other day…” Brian takes a breath and laughs under his breath without humour. “Yeah, I guess that day was just another reminder of exactly how fucking mortal I am.” 

Brian can feel Justin turning to look at him, but he doesn’t meet his gaze. Not that he could, anyway, since the darkness in the loft obscures almost everything. “I had an appointment with my oncologist that day,” he says, and then he clears his throat. “Testicular cancer.”

There, he fucking said it.

Justin goes completely still next to him, so still that Brian’s afraid that he might not even be breathing. “It was just a post-treatment check up,” he adds. “It’s gone for now.”

Justin doesn’t reply right away, probably still trying to let the information sink in. 

“Brian, I…” his voice breaks and Brian almost regrets telling him. Almost.

“Brian,” he starts again, and then slides closer to Brian this time, until he’s close enough to rest his head against Brian’s chest. “Just – thank you for telling me.”

Brian doesn’t reply, but surely Justin can hear the rate of his heart beating against his rib cage. Justin kisses Brian’s t-shirt covered chest. “I’m just so glad.”

“Of?” Brian asks, trying to go for casual. But apparently, Justin sees right through him. He gives Brian a watery smile.

“That you’re here,” Justin says. “And that I met you.”

There was a time when Brian would have rolled his eyes at that, or at least shrugged it off. But he just can’t – and he doesn’t even want to.

Brian’s glad for the darkness when he leans down and kisses Justin’s forehead with a certain gentleness he didn’t even know he possessed. He feels Justin’s answering smile against the fabric of his shirt, and then closes his eyes.

 


	6. Six

No one in their right mind would ever claim that Brian Kinney is a morning person – especially Saturday mornings when he takes to acting more of an asshole than usual to make up for hangovers and headaches alike.

So when on Saturday morning Brian wakes up to an impending headache and the distant sound of someone clattering around in his kitchen, he’s rightfully pissed –that is, until the alluring scent of freshly brewed coffee reaches his bedroom.

“Oh you’re up,” Justin walks up the steps wearing nothing but a pair of nicely fitted grey sweats. It takes Brian a moment to notice the coffee mug he’s holding.

Somehow, it’s both fitting and uncanny that the blond little barista knows one of two ways to avoid the Kinney hurricane on Saturday mornings. And as for number two…

“I’m up alright, and in more ways than one,” Brian replies, raising his eyebrows. One out of two isn’t bad, but two out of two is even better.

Justin smirks at the suggestion, sitting down on Brian’s side of the bed.  He reaches under the covers and runs a warm hand over Brian’s bare thigh. “You never get enough, do you?”

“Never enough,” Brian agrees. Justin does that half-laugh thing he does, reaching down for a kiss.

His mouth is wet and warm, and Brian can taste a faintness of coffee from earlier. Soon enough, those warm lips trail down Brian’s body and envelop his cock – and it’s fucking wonderfully, _deliciously_ hot. Brian has to supress a moan as Justin’s tongue slides over the head, and as he licks and sucks with just the right amount of pressure. By then, Brian doesn’t even bother supressing the groans and when he comes, he threads his fingers through Justin’s hair and grips him tighter as Justin groans along with him.

Jesus, the kid’s _good_. Either Justin’s a natural or he had a lot of practice – but either way, he’s born to be cocksucker. And Brian means that in the most flattering way.

He’s always been a big believer in reciprocating and he figures that Justin deserves it after such a stellar blowjob – so he flips Justin over with practiced ease and starts sucking on the sensitive spot on Justin’s neck, the one right under his left ear that seems to drive him crazy every time. But apparently Justin’s feeling particularly immune to the spot today, because he pulls Brian’s head back to eyelevel just when Brian’s kisses start travelling downwards.

“Wait, wait,” Justin laughs.

Brian pulls back with his eyebrows raised. “Are you turning down the chance to get your dick sucked? Sucked by _me_ , I should add.” 

“No,” Justin smiles. “Just saving it for later.” He hesitates for a moment before continuing. “I wanted to ask you something, actually. About last night.”

Brian should’ve guessed that the fantastic blowjob came at a price. He rolls off of Justin, reaching over to his side table for a cigarette.

Lighting up, he doesn’t meet Justin’s eyes. “Well?”

“It’s just… I was wondering why you called me last night, after you found out about… about Cody.”

Brian pauses then, not expecting _that_ question out of all the ones he had been anticipating. He takes a drag and then answers. “Isn’t that what people do? Call and console.” 

“That’s true,” Justin agrees, but then he hesitates again. “But why…”

Brian interrupts him quickly. “I fucking called you to make sure you were fine, okay?”

Justin considers this for a moment. Brian can feel Justin watching him carefully, but he ignores it and instead focuses on watching the smoke slowly disappear into the air as he exhales.

“Because you care about me,” Justin finally says, his tone is quiet but he sounds completely sure of the statement.  “And I care about you too,” he continues just as quietly. And fuck, what’s Brian supposed to say to _that_? 

“When you told me about your… about your cancer, I was so fucking scared. I thought about losing you and whatever this is we’re doing and…” he trails off. “I guess now I know for sure.”

Brian doesn’t reply right away. He sits up with his legs over the edge of the bed and his back facing Justin. “Didn’t know you were so big on declarations,” he finally says.

Brian hears Justin shift from behind him. “Actually, usually I’m not.”

Brian doesn’t reply to this, and when Justin places a hand on his bare shoulder, Brian shrugs out of the grip and stands up.

“I need a shower.”

Justin pauses then. “Okay,” he nods, his tone careful.

Brian heads to the bathroom and turns the shower on. He pictures Justin sitting on the bed, probably wondering what the fuck just happened or what he had said wrong. Fuck, there’s even a chance that he’s finally had enough of Brian’s bullshit no-emotion-zone and is up packing his shit and already half way out the door.

So typically, Brian managed to be an asshole even when he wasn’t trying to. Even when Justin deserved it the least. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then walks out of the bathroom. Justin’s still sitting at the edge of the bed and looks up when he hears Brian. 

“Well, are you coming? Or are you going?”

Justin looks startled at the question and he takes a second to answer, but when he does, he smiles softly. 

“I’m coming,” he says. Brian watches as Justin reaches him in a few short steps and as he wraps his arms around his neck. Brian kisses him then, and maybe it went for a while, or maybe it didn’t, but he can hear the shower running in the distance and he doesn’t fucking care.

 “Yeah, I’m coming,” Justin repeats, and then he grins. “And hopefully in more than one way.”

* 

The coffee’s cold by the time they’re finally towelled off and dry. Brian shrugs and drinks it anyway, if only to feel the caffeine in his system sooner rather than later. Justin gives him an appalled look at that, and Brian’s grins because it’s fucking funny just how dedicated the kid is to his coffee.

“So, what’re your plans for today?” Justin asks over a bowl of Apple Jacks that he must’ve mysteriously conjured from _somewhere_ , since Brian can’t remember the last time he bought cereal that isn’t corn flakes.

“No plans,” Brian replies, and then eyes the kid suspiciously. “You’re stocking my kitchen now?” 

Justin laughs. “ _Hardly_. I bought this last week after that time we had to eat avocado for breakfast.”

“Avocados are fucking healthy.” 

“They’re also fucking gross,” Justin scrunches up his face at the memory, and no, Brian does _not_ find it the least bit endearing. 

“Fine, put that shit in your body if you want. But remember, that perfect twink physique isn’t gonna last forever,” he smirks. “Pretty soon you’ll be wishing you had my restraint.”

“Brian,” Justin laughs. “You know your diet’s fucked up, right? You say no carbs after seven but I’ve _seen_ you eat a whole box of hokkien noodles at 2 in the morning. And don’t even try and pretend you’re not addicted to those chocolate-filled pastries at my work, because you _are_ and everyone else who works there knows it too.”

Justin grins triumphantly, the little shit, and Brian glares at him. 

“Anyway, I’m pretty busy today so I should get going,” Justin finishes the last of his cereal by picking up the bowl and drinking the milk like a fucking kid. Brian just shakes his head and chooses to ignore it. “We have this art show thing at my college in a few days so I need to get my shit together and get my pieces finished.” 

Brian nods and watches Justin head towards the door. “You need a ride?”

Justin smiles at that, but he doesn’t seem surprised. “Thanks but I actually drove here. Borrowed Daph’s car.”

Brian nods again, “See you later then.”

“Yeah...” Justin says, and he trails off like he just remembered something. “Actually, you’re not –“ he cuts himself off again. “Actually, never mind.” 

Brian frowns, “I’m not what?”

Justin waves his hand. “No, never mind,” he says again.

“Just fucking tell me.” 

Justin sighs. “I was going to ask if you’re coming to the spin class tomorrow, but I guess the Liberty Ride isn’t such a great idea if you’re still, you know... if you’re still recovering.” 

Brian looks away for a moment, feeling the discomfort crawl over his skin like a creature. Fucking cancer. Fucking doctors, fucking _everything_.

Finally, he huffs out a laugh and it sounds bitter even to his own ears. “Yeah, it’s definitely more than the light stretching and mild cardio the docs prescribed.” 

Justin stares at him for a moment in silence. Then he swiftly strides closer to Brian in two short steps, and then kisses him, long and hard.

When they break a part, Justin’s expression is full of _something_. Something like a mixture of concern and affection, which should be fucking terrifying, but Brian can’t find it in himself to be outraged. He smiles at Justin, almost tiredly.

“Later.”

Justin nods, “Later.” He smiles and lets himself out.

* 

Brian spends the rest of his Saturday perfecting a presentation for Monday’s new account. He had considered dropping by Lindsay’s to see Gus but by the time he finished up it was probably already Gus’ bedtime. He ends up spending his night at Babylon and picks up a mediocre trick in the backroom. He thinks about what it’d be like if he just turned up to spin class the next day – he’d have to face the fucking pain headlong with no apologies, and with no regrets. He thinks about it while he’s thrusting into the trick, out and in, and by the time he comes, Brian thinks _fuck everything_ and finally makes a decision. 

*

Sunday afternoon Brian shows up to the spin class just as they’re about to get started. Justin’s somewhere near the front next to Theodore. He’s obviously surprised to see Brian, and Brian feels both Justin and Ted shooting him concerned looks every now and then – which does nothing but bother Brian and motivate him even more.

In the end though, he has to stop. It’s humiliating and fucking embarrassing but the last session was without a break and if Brian hadn’t stopped he would’ve vomited up his entire breakfast – and in no universe will he put himself through _that_ ever again if can help it. 

Justin catches him in the change room afterwards, and Brian glares at him when he sees the blond approaching.

“Brian,” Justin says in a patient tone, and Brian wants to hate him for it. “You shouldn’t do this.”

He laughs humourlessly. “Well, it’s obvious that I fucking _can’t_ so don’t bother trying to convince me not to.”

Justin pauses and the only watches his for a moment. Brian glares right back. Finally, Justin speaks. “Going on the Liberty Ride is important to you?”

Brian snorts in reply but Justin ignores it. “Why is it so important?”

“Does it matter why?” 

“Yes,” he replies, like it’s so simple. 

Brian scowls at him. “You fucking know why already.”

Justin nods slowly, “I guess it’s got something to do with giving a big _fuck you_ to your cancer and doing whatever the fuck you want whenever the fuck you want to instead.”

Brian huffs out a short laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Okay,” Justin nods, this time more surely. “Then I’ll help you.” He says it in a way that someone would say something obvious like _the sky is blue_ or _water is wet_ , like he’s taken for granted that Brian had already agreed.

“I don’t think so,” Brian scoffs. He tries to end the conversation at that, turning around to pick up his bag and then leave, but Justin blocks his way.

“Why not?” 

“Because I fucking said so and because I don’t need your fucking help.” Jesus, isn’t that explanation enough?

“The Liberty Ride’s in almost three weeks and you have to train and get in shape. I can help you with that.”

“Oh yeah?” Brian raises his eyebrows. “How are you going to manage that?”

Justin smiles, “I have my ways.”

Brian stays silent, but he isn’t going out of his way to leave anymore, either. “We can come back here tomorrow night instead to practice after hours.” Justin continues. “Actually, it’d be better for me since I can’t make it to a lot of the classes ‘cause of work.” 

Brian finds himself actually considering the ridiculous idea for a moment, before he comes to his sense.

He hesitates before replying, “Justin, the charity’s for the Liberty Hospice, not me. I don’t need you wasting your time just so you can give me an ego boost.”

Justin finally looks fucking angry at that. “Fuck you, Brian. _You know_ you need my help. And _I know_ , you’re going to go on the Liberty Ride and you’re going to be a big, fat fucking success,” he glares at Brian. “But without getting into shape I doubt you’ll even make it out of Toronto, much less the 322 miles back to Pittsburgh.”

It’s silent in the change room after that, with both of them staring each other –until Brian quirks his lips. 

“Big fucking success, huh?” He says, and Justin breaks into a smile.

 “The biggest.” 

Brian smirks at him in reply. “And you’re sure you can get us in here after hours?” 

Justin laughs, “Don’t worry about that. Let’s just say I was well acquainted with our instructor once. A dose of my blond boy charm and we’ll have the key for sure.” 

“Confident, are we?”

“Yeah. You of all people should know it’s true,” Justin teases.

Brian only shakes his head, because _yeah_ it’s fucking true, the charming little twat.

  

 


End file.
